


A Friend In Need

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago, Neal cut his anklet and left New York and Peter behind. Now their lives become enmeshed once more. This is a story of love: love found, love lost and love renewed. Although the story contains the death of a canon character, I promise that neither Peter nor Neal were harmed in its creation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Friend In Need

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to “The Ultimate Con” (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1097395) that I wrote and  
> posted back in December 2013. It is not necessary to read it before reading this one, but it will help to explain Neal’s state of mind before leaving.
> 
> Many thanks to Treon for her diligent beta and for her helpful insights that usually make it into my stories.

      He sat at the tiny table in the courtyard sipping his espresso in deep contemplation. The trattoria owner was now an old friend and left the handsome, dark-haired gentleman with the startling blue eyes to his solitude. Neal, or Renato, as he was known by the locals, sat reflecting on the beautiful commune around him. Ravello was very old, dating back to the 5th century, and maintained its quaint charm in spite of the advent of the now twenty-first century. It was situated above the Amalfi Coast in the province of Salerno, Campania. Home to approximately 2,500 native Italian inhabitants, it was a favorite for tourists who came for the lovely views of the Aegean Sea, the quaint Duomo City Square and surrounding Rufolo Gardens. The Italians were a friendly, gregarious people, but they respected one’s privacy and protected their own. Such was the case with the expatriate in their midst.

      Neal had become someone whom they sheltered, very few questions asked. Fluent in Italian, he had suddenly appeared five years ago, along with a strange, hyperactive companion, and purchased a villa not far from town. He told the curious that he was a painter who was inspired by the graceful artistry that was the essence of Ravello. He had offered his name, Renato DiMateo, and that of his companion, Calvino Mangano, and little else. In truth, the names were very significant to the two of them, and Neal and Mozzie had given considerable thought to their new aliases. “Renato” meant “reborn,” and that is how Neal felt after leaving the shackled confines of the FBI. “Calvino” meant “little bald one,” so that fit Mozzie like a glove.

      After five years, New York was now a distant memory. The highs and lows of the years spent as Peter’s partner were shrouded in a hazy bubble that Neal only let his mind remember when he had imbibed too much Campari. He justified his flight because he knew that the FBI bureaucracy would never have let him go. Shadowy, powerful figures would have probed, plotted and schemed to find anything and everything to keep him on a leash at their beck and call. Peter would have tried to protect him, but his handler, whether he faced up to the fact or not, was simply a small cog in the machinery. Inevitably, he would have been powerless to stop the machinations of the puppet masters. Ultimately, Peter would have reached that conclusion himself, and he would have derailed his career if Neal hadn’t decided to spare his friend by disappearing into the ether.

      Peter liked to say that he was the only one who could find Neal when he was on the run. Neal let Peter think that so that his handler became complacent with his theoretical superior abilities of tracking and capturing the conman. In reality, the two times that he had cornered Neal weren’t truly indicative of his prowess; it was simply that Neal had let his heart rule his head. This time, Peter would not find Neal unless Neal starting strewing breadcrumbs, and he wasn’t about to do that.

      “Renato” had a new life here. He had been reincarnated and given another chance to find happiness. Thanks to Mozzie’s hidden cache of reserves, the purchase of the villa was possible. Now Neal painted the occasional piece and sold it under a pseudonym via a dealer in the States. June, still with her current contacts, was able to set up the fairly lucrative transactions, and since there were now two layers of separation between himself and his work, he thought that was sufficient to remain under the radar.

      Shortly after beginning his pursuit of building a new life, Neal noticed the beautiful Adriana Constanza, a bi-lingual tour guide shepherding her little covey of visitors around the town and its environs. He made it a point to always be in the vicinity when she gave her informative talks in a soft, lilting voice. The tourists always fell in love with her sweet nature as did Neal. His courtship of her was mannerly and Old Worldly in style and finesse. The more he was around her, the more entranced he became. It seemed that she had fallen in love with him as well.

      Adriana came from a close-knit family. Her father was a medical researcher who spent a great deal of his time in Rome; her mother, once a teacher, now spent her days making a home that was warm and welcoming. Neal yearned to be enfolded into the security that came with having loved ones around you. But he was Neal; he couldn’t simply stroll into this girl’s life as a man with many secrets and a checkered past. Against Mozzie’s dire warnings, he confessed everything to Adriana and held his breath.

      Adriana told him that she was in love with Renato DiMateo, the man he was now. Neal Caffrey was a man she had never known. And so, with a heart that soared, Renato proposed, and the wedding ceremony took place in the small 11th century Church of Santa Maria a Gradillo. Adriana looked radiant floating down the aisle on her father’s arm as Neal stood alongside of Mozzie at the altar. She moved into the villa and began to make it as cozy and inviting as the home in which she had been raised. There were plenty of extra rooms for Mozzie, but he claimed that the bucolic life could only be endured for a finite amount of time. Thus, he set off for parts unknown, to do who knew what, but he always kept in touch.

      The next year, Neal’s joy knew no bounds as Adriana presented him with a tiny daughter, so exquisite that she took Neal’s breath away. They named her Francesca, and she became the other woman in Neal’s life. She possessed a sunny but sometimes stubborn nature, and with her head of thick, dark curls and arresting blue eyes that defied the laws of genetic predominance, she had everyone wrapped around her little finger. Uncle Calvino now made more frequent forays home to visit his godchild, and Neal marveled at his tenderness and affinity for children. “Not every child brings out my benevolence, Neal,” Mozzie would scold. “It’s just this particular one because she is a truly unique creation and needs molding and mentoring to fulfill her potential.” Yes, life was good.

      Neal might act Italian, but his heritage was Irish, and the Irish are a superstitious lot. He was almost afraid to revel in his happiness because at any time the other shoe might drop. Apparently his fear was prophetic because that shoe had indeed dropped with a very loud crash. Now, as he sat here under the awning of the trattoria staring out at the sea, he was contemplating this new turn of events, letting his mind filter through thoughts and feelings that he had tried to bury long ago.

     Last week, he had gotten a letter from June that had been forwarded three times through intermediaries before it had finally come to him. The news was a devastating shock. In her brief missive, June had informed him that Elizabeth Burke had been the victim of a tragic traffic accident as she was commuting from Washington DC back home to New York City several months ago. She had died instantly, and Peter was inconsolable. He took a brief time off from his position at the Bureau, but once back, he couldn’t seem to regain his stride as the astute, committed federal agent that he once had been. It was noted by his superiors that self-medicating with alcohol was affecting his job performance, and he was strongly urged to take a leave of absence to get his act together.

      June had kept her distance from Peter and all of his minions at the Bureau after Neal had left, but she had ways of ferreting out things……..things like the distressing fact that Peter was descending into his own private purgatory and couldn’t seem to find a way out. June was not advocating any action on Neal’s part, but she felt it warranted keeping him informed of his former friend’s status.

       As Neal was sipping his second, or maybe it was his third espresso, a presence at the table brought him out of his reverie. “This looks serious,” said Mozzie as he searched his friend’s face. “Is everything okay with the little bambina?” Mozzie asked apprehensively.

      “Yeah, Moz, Frannie is fine,” answered Neal. “I just need a favor, my friend.”

      “Anything, you know that,” answered Mozzie gravely. He intuited that something was very wrong.

      Neal pushed June’s letter into his hands and watched as Mozzie’s face fell when he realized that his beloved Elizabeth was gone. He removed his glasses and began polishing them, a sure tell that he was emotionally distressed. Before Mozzie could say anything, Neal told him that he had explained the situation to his wife and she supported his decision to return to New York. He had a passport with a clean alias that had no ties to Renato DiMateo, and he wanted Mozzie to stay close to Adriana and Francesca until he managed, or _if_   he managed, to come back home.

      Mozzie was silent for a long time. Neal expected all kinds of resistance on his part, but the little bald man merely nodded. “I’ll protect them with my life, you know that Neal. Just protect yourself,” was all that he said.

      So, the next day, Neal set out from Leonardo di Vinci airport in Rome. He first traveled to London, then on to Paris before finally crossing the Atlantic and arriving at JFK in New York. He had slept at intervals on the various flights, so he felt alert enough to take a taxi to the narrow little townhouse in Brooklyn. Looking up at it from the street, it seemed diminished somehow, and so foreign and unfamiliar after the years spent in the beauty of the Italian countryside. It really wasn’t that late, just a bit after 10 PM local time, but the house was ominously dark save for an anemic radiance on the first floor. It could have been the glow from a television or even a nightlight, but instead of a warm appeal, it simply looked forlorn.

      Neal went around to the backdoor and easily slipped inside with the aid of lock picks that pre-dated his current domesticity. Peering around the dim kitchen he took in the mess of takeout containers overflowing the trashcan and unwashed dishes piled precariously in the sink. No Satchmo greeted him, and there was no dog bowl or dog bed in evidence. Neal supposed that the old Lab had passed away. Five years was a long time. Moving slightly forward, he could make out a human outline sprawled on the living room couch. Peter must have somehow sensed a presence in the room, because as Neal approached on silent feet, he opened his eyes in the dimness, and without a trace of surprise, quipped wryly, “Well, look what the wind blew in.”

      “Hello, Peter,” Neal said softly.

      “Hello, Neal. Come to offer your condolences?” Peter gave off a belligerent air.

      “That as well as other things,” Neal said calmly as he perched on the coffee table in front of Peter, who looked as if he had finished off a six-pack plus, if the empties on the floor were any indication.

      Peter cocked his head to the side as he studied Neal. “You look the same, like you just walked out the door yesterday. How do you manage that, Neal? It’s been what?....at least five years. But you just defy time. I hate time,” Peter continued with a slur. “You can’t control it, you know, like make it re-wind or fast forward. I am just stuck, Buddy. I can’t go forward and I can’t go back!”

      “I am so very sorry about Elizabeth, Peter. I am so sorry that you had to go through that pain.” (and are still going through it, thought Neal).

      “You know,” Peter started to talk as if Neal hadn’t said anything, “her parents blamed me when she died. They said that if I had been in Washington with her, then she wouldn’t have been driving four hours on an interstate to come home for the weekend.”

      “And it looks as if you blame yourself, too,” Neal said softly as he took in the agony of survivor’s guilt that twisted his friend’s features.

      After a pause, Peter mused out loud, “I’ve revisited my decision about turning down that DC job. It’s all that’s been on my mind lately. At the time I had reached the conclusion that I could not abide the bureaucratic mare’s nest that the position would entail. I worried that I would have no autonomy, and I’ve never been very good at being a ‘yes man,’ even on my best days. I didn’t want to be manipulated!” Peter’s voice had risen.

      “But my decision,” he eventually continued more softly, “was a decision that I made in a vacuum because I was thinking only about me and my principles and not El’s desires and dreams. That choice put pressure on our marriage. We were trying to make it work; that’s why El was coming home.” Neal was distressed to see the tears flowing down Peter’s cheeks.

     “Without her, there is really nothing in my life. The job is just that…a place where I put in time during any given day, not a haven or an end-all that gives me any satisfaction anymore. I really could care less if we get the bad guys. Sometimes it’s even hard to know who the bad guys are. People in the office are simply associates now, not friends. They come and they go. Hughes is gone. Both Jones and Diana have moved up the ladder to other branches, other positions. They keep in touch, but it’s not the same. And you’re gone.” Peter looked at Neal now, not exactly accusing but more resigned.

      “I hope that you realize that I didn’t try very hard to find you after you disappeared,” Peter continued. “I understood why you left, and I couldn’t fault you for it. Mozzie had vanished as well, so I knew that you’d be okay. You are okay, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, Peter, I’m okay, just worried about you right now.”

      “Well, I don’t think that I’ll ever be okay again.” Inebriation had made Peter brutally honest. “I’ll probably wake up tomorrow and discover this was all a dream because you won’t really be here. You’ll be gone, just like before. But El will be gone, too, and I don’t know if I can continue to face the empty shell that my existence has become.” After that remark, Peter listed to the side and his eyes closed. Within seconds he had succumbed to the deep sleep that alcohol affords.

      Neal studied his friend for quite a while before covering him with an old afghan he found in the closet. He then went up to Peter’s bedroom, an area with an unmade bed and clothes strewn on the floor. He picked the combination on Peter’s safe and was gratified to see Peter’s service revolver there. He efficiently removed the bullets and hid them deep in the linen closet in the hall just in case things did not commence as he hoped. Back at the safe, he quickly located Peter’s passport which, thank God, was still valid. Working hastily, Neal gathered what clean clothes that he could find and packed a suitcase to which he added bathroom toiletries. He then got busy on his phone making airline reservations for himself and Peter through various Scandinavian countries. Peter had once told him that he always longed to visit Sweden with its Viking history. Neal knew of a person in Stockholm who could make a new passport for Peter under a different name if Peter agreed to eventually accompany him to Italy. It would be their final destination in an odyssey of healing transformation and renewal.

      After lugging the suitcase downstairs to the front door, Neal spent the rest of the quiet night in the living room armchair, a vigilant sentinel watching over his friend until he would awaken. This time Neal wouldn’t disappear from Peter’s life. He was determined to protect this man as he had protected Neal all those years. He would protect Peter from himself and help him to heal in the warmth that friends and family would provide for however long it took. He would share Peter’s burden of grief until he could manage it alone. You just don’t abandon those that you love.

**Author's Note:**

> I think that I am now done with the angst of Season 5. I will next be posting Peter and Neal bromance stories from earlier seasons. Stay tuned!


End file.
